


An Interdimensional Incident

by Anglophile_Rin



Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV), Supernatural, Superwholock - Fandom
Genre: A little dash of Johnlock, Case Fic, F/M, Gen, Johnlock Challenges, Johnlock Gift Exchange, M/M, Superwholock, The Hounds of Baskerville, pizqit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-05
Updated: 2012-12-05
Packaged: 2017-11-20 08:53:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/583512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anglophile_Rin/pseuds/Anglophile_Rin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock are headed home from Dartmoor after Sherlock assumes he's solved the Baskerville Case. He may be a little wrong - or, at least, not entirely right.<br/>Written for pizqit as part of Johnlock Challenges December gift exchange.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Interdimensional Incident

**Author's Note:**

> I was given the prompts "Sherlock is very wrong about the case", "Action", "Hurt/comfort" (it's there if you squint), and "Superwholock appreciated".  
> Sorry it's a bit at the wire, I got a little carried away. I hope it's everything your little heart desired, pizqit! :)

“You were scared, Sherlock. Don’t lie, I saw you.” John grinned.

  
“I certainly was not!” Sherlock snorted, flipping up his coat collar, sending John a glare that dared him to make a comment about it.

  
“Oh, sure. The great Sherlock Holmes would never be sobbing into his whiskey over a gigantic ghost hound.”

  
“Don’t be ridiculous, John. There’s no such thing as ‘ghosts’ or ‘aliens’ or ‘monster dogs’.” Sherlock rolled his eyes as he got back into the jeep to drive back to London. “I’ve always known that. Now can we just forget it? The case is solved.”  
  
***  
  
“You can’t honestly be serious...” Dean narrowed his eyes at his brother. “There isn’t enough shit to take care of here? Fifty states, Sammy. That’s a lot of territory to cover!”

  
“Yeah, but Dean, this could be potentially huge. Get this, there’s this factory, right? And I guess the locals figure it’s some sort of government experimentation thing, but there’ve been signs, man. It looks like demons. And monsters.”

  
“So what, they’re shacking up now? Making little demonic monster babies?”

  
Sam shrugged. “All I know is there have been a lot of reports of weird attacks - more every day- and it all centres around this Baskerville place. And so do lightning storms. And crop failures. And-”

  
“Yeah, I get the picture. Black Eye calling cards. And you think they’re, what? Making the perfect monster?”

  
“Maybe.”

  
“In England.”

  
Sam shrugged again.

  
“This is some kind of plot to get me on a plane, isn’t it? Listen, I apologized about the Nair thing! Luckily, you’re such a grease monkey you noticed before you used it, so no harm, no foul, right?”

  
“Dean...”

  
“Aren’t there any Limey hunters? There have to be - Tamara was one, right? Let them take care of it!”

  
Sam shot Dean a look that he had long ago secretly dubbed the ‘You’re Being a Child’ bitchface.

  
“Son of a bitch. Can’t we at least ask Cas to zap us over?”  
  
***  
  
“Alright, Rory. Your turn.”

  
“My turn to what?”

  
“Well, we’ve seen my heroes - the yummy Romans-, the Doctor’s apparently seen his hero - William Shakespeare- “

  
“Absolute genius.” The Doctor grinned. “Fair kisser.”

  
Amy shot the Doctor a look equal parts confusion and amusement. “O...kay. So, it’s your turn. Who’s your hero, eh?”

  
Rory shrugged. “Don’t have one.”

  
“Oh, c’mon Ror, you must! Everyone does. We have a time machine-”

  
“I have a time machine.” The Doctor corrected. Amy ignored him.

  
“Anywhere, anytime, anyone. Just pick!” she grinned, wrapping her arms around her husband’s shoulders.

  
“Fine. Sherlock Holmes. But he’s not real, so- let’s just go to that Hat Planet place you were talking about.”

  
The Doctor’s eyes lit up, but Amy turned on him.

  
“Ooooh, no no no. Don’t even think about it.”

  
“Think about what?”

  
“Planet of the hats? Fez? It’s not happening.”

  
“I wasn’t going to say that.” The Time Lord insisted, the slight petulant look on his face suggesting otherwise. “I was about to suggest to Rory that Sherlock Holmes might not be as unreal as he once imagined.”

  
“That’s not possible. He was just a story.”

  
“Not impossible. Just highly improbable.” The Doctor grinned, bouncing his way around the Tardis’ console. “And we all know about highly improbable things, don’t we? C’mon, then! Next stop, 1893! Geronimo!”  
  
***  
  
They hadn’t  made it very far when they ran out of petrol. Really, just far enough to be completely isolated in the middle of the English countryside. The dark, foggy, English countryside.

  
“Brilliant.” John grumbled. “Any room in your hard drive for the inner workings of a combustion engine, genius? Let me summarize for you - suck, squeeze, bang, blow. Oh, and here’s a clue. Petrol is vital to the bang portion of our lift home.”

  
“Has anyone ever told you how exceedingly dull you get when you’re cranky, John?” Sherlock asked conversationally.

  
“Yes, you. Shit. Does your mobile have signal?”

  
“No.”

  
“Great. Mine either. Guess we’re in for a walk, then. Good thing monsters aren’t real, eh? We just have to worry about escaped serial killers living in caves, this way.”

  
“Don’t  be ridiculous, why would anyone escape prison just to live in a cave?”

  
John just glared as he undid his seatbelt, opening his car door as angrily as one really could open a car door.

  
“I didn’t forget the petrol by the way.” Sherlock told him as he caught up. John damned his shorter legs, shoving his hands into his pockets. God, it was cold.

  
“Just didn’t seem important to you, then? Or was it too dull?”

  
“No, I mean I did fill the car. Just before we left. We seem to have run out of fuel at a rate exponentially greater than we should have.”

  
John stopped in his tracks, narrowing his eyes at Sherlock. “We catch killers for a living - well, more as a hobby the way you do it, but still- and you didn’t think this was an important fact to bring up? When it ended with us stranded in the middle of bleeding nowhere?”

  
Sherlock was going to answer, but that was when he lost his mind.

  
Well, he’s pretty sure that was when he lost his mind. In any case, that was when the blue box materialized out of thin air in front of them.  
  
***

  
“Oi, what’s this then?” Amy demanded, leaning out of the Tardis door. Rory looked over her shoulder.

  
“Excellent work, Doctor. We’re in the middle of a field. Likely scaring the pants off of the two blokes in front of us. The ones wearing 21st century clothing, walking away from a 21st century car.”

  
“What?” the Doctor demanded, ducking down to look out from under Amy’s arm. “No, that’s not right. This should have taken us right to Sherlock Holmes...” he ran back inside, fiddling with dials and cranks, dragging the monitor over to him and smacking it twice on the side.

  
“So, either you’ve a supernatural stalker, or the press have gotten really fucking creative.” One of the muttered to the other.

  
“Aha!” The Doctor shouted. “See, I told you! Sherlock Holmes, in the flesh!” He grinned and careened out of the Tardis, walking up to the two men with his hand outstretched and a big grin on his face. Both looked at him like he was completely insane. “Forgive me, I’m the Doctor.” Just then he got a whiff of something strange smelling. “And you must be-” he sniffed around his own head, turning 360. “Sherlock Holmes, which makes-” he sniffed closer to the two men. “You John- I’m sorry, do you smell that?”

  
“Smell...?” The shorter, blond man inquired, taking on the tone and stance of someone talking to a crazy person.

  
“The air. It’s not right. It’s, different...”

  
“We are in the country, mate. Probably sheep.”

  
“No, that’s not...wait, what year is this?”

  
“2012.” The blond man spoke again. The taller, darker one was busy narrowing his eyes at the Doctor and glaring at the Tardis as though it had personally affronted him.

  
Amy came up behind the Doctor’ shoulder. “Doctor, that’s impossible. We would have heard of a Sherlock Holmes in our time. He’d be famous. And, you know. Not a story. Or Victorian. Which he is - was. Right?”

  
“Oh dear.” The Doctor’s face blanched in realization. He turned on his heel, running back into the Tardis.

  
“Oh dear’s always good.” Rory bit out sarcastically as the Doctor rushed past him. He turned a few more cranks, calling up a different screen on the console.

  
“Oooooh no, no, no, no, no...”

  
“That’s even better. Nothing ever goes wrong when he ‘oh no’s.” Rory threw his hands in the air. Amy glared at him in interplanetary wife-speak for ‘You’re not helping.’

  
“Doctor. What is it?” She asked.

  
“Ooooh, not again...okay!” The Doctor clapped his hands, turning to face his companions. “The most important thing is not to panic.”

  
“What is this, Hitchhiker’s Guide?” John quipped. “Honestly, who are you people?”

  
“The good news is, the Tardis doesn’t seem to be dying this time, so we might actually be able to get out of here.”

  
“And the bad news?” Amy pushed.

  
“I have absolutely no idea how.”

  
“Alright...Well then, where’s here? And why would the Tardis die?”

  
“It did last time? It’s to do with energy transfers, the rift in space and time, the fact that she doesn’t even exist on this plan-”

  
“Doctor! Where are we?”

  
“Oh, right. Another dimension. One where Sherlock Holmes and John Watson live in 2012. Could be fun, right? At least there’s no Daleks!” He grinned unconvincingly at the Ponds while John mouthed “another dimension?” to himself in the background. “Though that large glowing dog doesn’t look too friendly, either. Um...everyone should probably run.”  
  
***  
  
“Are you going to hum the whole way there?”

  
Dean ignored his brother and kept humming.

  
“It’s a nine hour flight, Dean.”

  
Dean hummed louder.

  
“Oh for God’s sake, really?”

  
“If you’d rather, I could chant ‘I hate you Sammy, I hate you Sammy, I hate you Sammy’, but I was kind of saving that for the three and a half hour drive from the airport to Podunk Demonville.” Dean snapped, before resuming his humming.

  
“Jesus, take a valium or something. Sleep through it.” Sam smirked, putting on his headphones, if only to drown out his older brother’s off-key rendition of Whiskey in the Jar.

  
“I hate you, Sammy.” Dean growled back, cursing himself for not thinking of valium.  
  
***  
  
Taking a look over his shoulder and realizing his pistol was still sitting in the glove compartment of the jeep, John decided that following the madman into the blue box was likely the lesser of the two evils.

  
That is until he grabbed Sherlock’s coat sleeve and actually followed the madman into the blue box.

  
“It’s...it’s...” John stuttered, unable to find the words. Glancing over at Sherlock, the genius was obviously going into overdrive, eyes sweeping the room, trying to deduce what John had to believe was impossible to deduce, his brow furrowed and his lips moving rapidly with internal dialogue.

  
“Bigger on the inside.” The young Scottish girl supplied helpfully. “Yeah, it’s a bit trippy at first, but you really get used to it. Try to stay in the console room until you’ve wrapped your head around it, or the pool will really blow your mind. Not to mention the library.”

  
“There’s a pool and a library in this thing?” John demanded.

  
“No, don’t be ridiculous.” The Doctor interjected before Amy could respond. “That’s just a terrible waste of space. There’s a pool in the library. Now, where were you lot coming from? I’m assuming there’s a town nearby?”

  
A pool in the library. Ah, well then. Not mad at all, in that case.

  
“Dartmoor.” John responded weakly. “Um, we’re not going back out there?”

  
“Of course not. What would be the point of a spaceship that couldn’t travel through space?”

  
John just nodded. Well then, he was obviously dreaming.

  
Wait. Spaceship. And the girl had called him...

  
“You can’t possibly expect me to believe you’re Doctor Who.” He burst out, eyes wide.

  
“Of course not. Just the Doctor.”

  
“No, seriously though. You’re the Doctor. The Doctor. Time Lord? Gallifrey?” John’s mind was actually spinning. Sherlock stopped muttering to himself to stare at John, as if in accusation. Like he was figuring out something Sherlock couldn’t and was personally affronted by it. Probably was. Git.

  
The Doctor left the console, walking towards John suspiciously. “Yes, actually. But how would you know about that?”

  
“I used to watch you on telly when I was a kid! From behind the couch, mostly. But... that hasn’t been on in ages. They cancelled it for good after the 8th Doctor. Oh, and you know, it was a program on telly.”

  
“Huh, interesting. So to us, you’re books, and to you, we’re a television program...cool.” The Doctor smiled, taking it all in stride as he set the coordinates for (hopefully) Dartmoor.

  
“Yeah, he’s always like this.” The other man told John as he sputtered. “You learn to roll with the weird and impossible. And weirdly impossible.”

  
“And impossibly weird.” the girl grinned.

  
“Alright! Good! Dartmoor! Little Inn by the name of Cross Keys. I love Inns, they always have the best rashers. Shall we?”

  
“John.” Sherlock whispered as the Doctor and his companions stepped outside (into the mid-afternoon sun. Wasn’t it nighttime a moment ago?) “I think I may have finally actually lost my mind. Don’t tell Mycroft.”  
  
***  
  
True to his word, Dean had cursed Sam’s name the entire drive to Dartmoor. This was done with special vehemence once he almost killed them both for the third time driving on the wrong side of the road and Sam forcibly took over the driver’s seat of the rental car.

  
It didn’t help that he couldn’t find a single classic rock station on the radio, and the rental had no tape deck. They spent the ride listening to One Direction and Lily Allen.  
Sam actually felt bad for the demons once Dean let himself really get his feelings out.

  
Finally, they parked out front the only place there seemed to be to sleep in the whole damn town - an Inn called the Cross Keys (“Maybe they should rename it the Cross Roads if there are as many satan spawn here as you seem to think”) which was run by a large man and his partner who insisted on smiling at the boys as if they were honeymooners.  
Times like these Sam really wished they shared more of a family resemblance.

  
Soon enough they were up in the room, Dean re-assembling shotguns and their handguns from the pieces they’d stripped and hidden in hollowed out and lead-lined books and boxes in their checked bags (a trick they’d learned from Bobby), while Sam researched any and all history he could find on Baskerville, monsters in the area, and Dartmoor in general while a couple British guys yelled at each other in the room next door.

  
“Alright, so get this. The Baskerville rumours go back decades. There was some guy who mysteriously disappeared about twenty years ago and his kid swore up and down that it had been some hound that had killed him. Just this weekend that was debunked by some local detective, according to the blogs, but it goes deeper than that. People have been seeing this hound a lot more in the past year. Most of the stories are different, but there’s a string with one thing in common.”

  
“Yeah? What’s that?” Dean prompted, not looking up from the firing pin his was cleaning off before replacing it in its bolt.

  
“They never see the hound - they hear it, they see footsteps, and it has ripped people to shreds, but they never see it. Oh, and they say it smells like sulphur.”

  
Dean dropped the bolt and his hands into his lap. “You’ve got to be shitting me. Hell hounds? You dragged me - on an airplane - all the way to England so that we could hunt down hell hounds? Screw it, Sammy, these Red Coats are on their own. We are John Smith-ing our asses out of here and back to America.”

  
“A Pocahontas reference? Really?”

  
“For a cartoon, Pocahontas was hot. I will never be ashamed of referencing hot. And you’re missing the point. We’re leaving.”

  
“Dean, I know you’re not...fond...of hell hounds-”

  
“Not fond? Not fond? Sammy, I am fucking terrified of hell hounds. In case you forgot, they literally dragged me to hell. I am not exactly jumping at the chance to go repeat that experience.”

  
“What about the people here?”

  
“If there are hell hounds, there are deals. They brought this on themselves.”

  
“Dean-”

  
“No, Sam. I mean it. We’re going.”

  
Dean was just throwing his stuff back into the bag when there was a knock on the door.

  
Frowning, Dean pointed to himself, then to Sam, then gave him a look that clearly said ‘Who the hell else do we know who’s still alive’ before his brother rolled his eyes and got up to get the door.

  
Before them stood a man wearing a tweed jacket and a red bowtie, flanked on either side by a red-haired woman, a skinny guy in a puffy vest, another skinny guy wearing some sort of dramatic black coat and a shorter blond man who looked like a soldier.

  
“Hell hounds?” the man smiled at them. “Now, that sounds interesting.”  
  
***  
  
The imaginary characters from a television program Sherlock had never watched followed him and John up to their room, despite Sherlock’s efforts to will them out of existence. He turned on them once the door shut.

  
“No.” he stated simply.

  
“No...” the Scottish girl repeated, raising an eyebrow.

  
“No. You do not exist, and this is not happening. Obviously, John and I are still under the effects of the drug we’ve both ingested. It’s taking longer to work its way out of our systems than I had anticipated, but lacking the proper chemistry equipment to study it, that was only to be expected. So, no. We will not be speaking with you further, because you do not exist.”

  
“Um, we kind of do.” The skinny man spoke this time, glancing around at his friends. “See, mate? Flesh and blood, just like you.” he tipped forward, tapping Sherlock on the arm before resuming his upright position.

  
“No, this is impossible! Space travel is impossible. Science fiction television show characters coming to life is impossible. Outdated police call boxes materializing out of thin air, is impossible! And no matter what, once you have eliminated the impossible - you,and that room we were in where absolutely nothing, even the laws of physics, made sense- whatever remains, however improbable - in this case, my miscalculating the timeframe during which the drugs would remain in our systems strongly enough to cause visual and auditory hallucinations-must be the truth. So. Hallucinations. And, thus, not speaking to you.” Sherlock’s voice had raised with his agitation levels and John could easily see a repeat of the night by the fire occurring.

  
“Oooh, I’ve always loved that line.” The Doctor grinned, clapping his hands like a five year old. “However, you missed one very important thing, my dear Holmes. Not impossible. Just highly improbable.”

  
Sherlock refused to answer, sitting on his bed instead and waiting for the drugs to wear off.

  
It had to be the drugs. He couldn’t tell a thing about this man - not where he was from, how old he was, where he had been - he couldn’t even tell his relationship with his two fellows! (Though they were quite obviously and recently married, the girl being originally from Scotland, but having moved to England when a small child. They had met as children and grown up good friends, along with a possible third. He had loved her longer than she had loved him, and they both loved the man who called himself ‘The Doctor’, though she in a more familial way and he in a more begrudging. And they had one child, though God only knows where they had stashed it, as they showed no outward signs of child rearing.) John claimed he was an alien, but had there ever been contact with extraterrestrial beings he’ have sussed it out from Mycroft by now - even his older brother wasn’t that good at keeping secrets.

  
In the silence that had fallen on the room they could hear raised voices coming from through the wall. A man (American, orphaned, older sibling, violent job) was shouting some nonsense about hounds, and hadn’t Sherlock already taken care of this?

  
The words seemed to thoroughly excite his and John’s shared hallucination, however, as he raced from the room, presumably to knock on their neighbours’ door. He was followed not only by his own companions, but also by John.

  
Knowing John, he’d probably get himself in trouble or kidnapped or something, so Sherlock followed along behind. Not that he believed in any of this, mind you. This was all in his head. But that was no reason to risk John’s safety, now was it?

  
By the time Sherlock caught up with the small group the door to the room was open, and the Doctor was greeting the owners.

  
“Hell hounds? Now, that sounds interesting.”  
  
***  
  
Amy  was really tired of waiting in the hall.

  
It was a little bit drafty, and a lot ridiculous. Typical Americans - of course they didn’t invite them in. Just stared at them like they were going to pull out knives or shoot them, or something.

  
The shorter one was pretty though. Very pretty, actually. Not that she cared, obviously. Rory and all. But still.

  
A girl could look.

  
“You gonna ask us in, pretty boy, or are you going to just stare at us till you perfect the whole ‘melt with your eyes’ thing?” she asked. Next to her Rory gave her a pointed look, mouthing ‘pretty boy?’ She shrugged, quite innocently, if she did say so herself.

  
“How do we know you’re not demons?” the pretty one demanded in a voice much lower than Amy would have ever expected.

  
“The lack of horns and pitchforks might do it.” she narrowed her eyes at him, deciding to just push her way into the room. She turned back around to face everyone, sitting in a chair against the wall. “Oh, please, don’t mind me. You all just continue with your manly man staring contest.”

  
The Americans looked at each other, seeming to have an entire conversation without the actual use of words. Finally, the tall one (the really, really tall one) took a flask out of his pocket, abruptly splashing it at the Doctor, Rory and the Conan Doyle boys.

  
Rory sputtered. “Oi! What the hell was that?” he demanded.

  
“Holy water.” the tall one answered, turning and splashing it at Amy (she really should have seen that one coming). “Congratulations, you’re all certified demon-free.”

  
“Um, yeah.” Amy griped, wiping off her face with her sleeve. “I already told you that.Who are you guys, some sort of renegade American priests or something?”

  
They did that look thing again, ending with the shorter one shrugging and saying “They already heard about the hell hounds.”

  
“No. We’re hunters.”

  
“Not much game around here, mate.” Doctor Watson spoke up. Amy had almost forgotten he was there. His friend Sherlock was still studiously ignoring the lot of them.  
“We don’t hunt animals, we hunt monsters.Werewolves, vampires, demons. What we don’t hunt, however, are hell hounds, because they cannot be hunted. So we’re going home. Lovely to meet you all.” The pretty one spoke this time, directing the end of his speech to the other man, who rolled his eyes.

  
“What my brother means to say is that we’re pretty sure there are demons in the area and that they’re attacking people with hell hounds - invisible, giant dogs that are controlled by crossroad demons and drag the souls of the people they make deals with down to hell.”

  
“And what exactly do you plan to do about this?”

  
“Nothing.” Pretty replied at the same time Gigantor answered, “Stop them.”

  
The Doctor had his eyes slightly narrowed now. To the casual observer, his facial expression had barely changed. But Amy knew this man better than she knew herself. He was on the cusp of becoming very angry and very dangerous, very quickly.

  
“Stop them how?”  he asked softly.

  
“We gank them.” Gigantor answered matter-of-factly. At the blank looks he received from all involved he elaborated. “We kill them.”

  
The Doctor was not going to like that at all.  
  
***  
  
Sherlock was rapidly coming to the conclusion that these illusions were not going away.

  
He was also rapidly coming to the conclusion that they might not be illusions after all.

  
Which, really, was the farthest from the conclusion he wanted that he possibly could have imagined.

  
Though, he had to admit. It was far from boring...  
  
***  
  
“No.” Bow Tie stated simply.

  
Dean quirked a corner of his mouth and one eyebrow, “Sorry, what do you mean, ‘no’?”

  
“No. No killing.”

  
“I’m sorry, Poindexter, that’s not really your call. This is kind of what we do, and you know what, it saves people. So why don’t you lot go enjoy your tea and crumpets, forget this ever happened, and we’ll go on our merry way saving the world for your sorry asses, okay?”

  
If Sammy pointed out the fact that Dean seemed to have changed his mind on the hell hounds, Dean was going to punch him in his stupid face.

  
“What is it with you humans?” Bow Tie exploded. “You always jump to guns, and killing, and violence! It’s against your nature! Left alone, you’re always striving to create and discover and explore and yet you spend all your time covering that up with destroying and enslaving and fighting each other!”

  
Dean side-eyed the girl. “Is he for real?”

  
“Touchy subject.” she muttered.

  
“Listen, apparently not human guy, which I’m totally gonna let pass for now - you can get all touchy feely with serial killers and Hitler all you want, that’s cool. They’re just people. But these things kill for the pleasure of it. And they don’t actually stop until they’ve been put down. So there’s not actually a whole lot of options here.”

  
“There are always options.” Bow Tie told Dean quietly, in a way that made him think the guy was old. Like, Cas old. He was even doing the stare-y thing.

  
“Well, why don’t we all go and see if whatever’s going on is actually these hell hounds and discuss options when we come to them?” Hobbit Boy suggested.

  
Great, Dean thought to himself, somehow they’d managed to stumble their way into an entourage. Just freaking fantastic.  
  
***  
  
In the end, Sherlock and John end up driving the Doctor and his male companion - Rory, they were informed- to Baskerville. Amy, the Scottish girl, had opted to ride with the American brothers, claiming that someone needed to keep an eye on them so they didn’t ‘go all Father Rambo on anything,’ but Sherlock knew she just wanted an excuse to look at Dean, the shorter, angrier one.

  
Which meant that Sherlock spent the ride glancing at ‘the Doctor’ (and John claimed he had delusions of mystery...) in the rear view mirror, switching between being utterly fascinated by this man who he couldn’t tell a single thing about and claimed to not even be human, and utterly frustrated with the sheer ludicrosity of this entire venture.

  
It had been over seventy hours since Sherlock had been drugged. Even allowing for a much longer half-life than was even plausible given the background data he had read, there was no way there was any left in his system.

  
And yet, here they remained. It was troubling, but Sherlock wasn’t going to let a little thing like impending insanity make him the slowest in the group.

  
Especially not a group which included two Americans, one of which can’t have even formally graduated high school.

  
What he needed was data. Unfortunately, the Doctor and his sullen companion appeared to be just as lost as he was.

  
“From what John has insisted on babbling about your program, you’re supposed to be some sort of genius with knowledge of pretty much every species in the universe, much less on earth. How have you never encountered these beings before?”

  
“It’s a big universe, Sherlock. Lots to see, lots to do-”

  
“Mostly running.” Rory interjected.

  
“I get around to everything eventually, it seems. And here I am, getting around to hell hounds. I have to say, mysterious, invisible dogs? Demons walking the earth? It’s like Christmas!”

  
“But, we’ve  been to the centre of the earth. There’re just Silurians there. No devil, no demons, no hell.”

  
The Doctor grinned, Sherlock saw him in the rearview mirror. “I know! That’s the best part! How do you think it works, Sherlock?”

  
“Impossible to say without either data or proof that they even exist in the first place.” Sherlock replied tightly, returning his eyes to the road ahead of him. He felt John lay a hand on his leg, probably in a wordless attempt to force him into hospitality with his hero. Sherlock rolled his eyes, but also shut his mouth.

  
  
Soon enough, they had arrived back at Baskerville. As they pulled up, they could hear the Winchester brothers arguing - apparently about how they were going to get in.  
  
“Dean, feds have no jurisdiction in England.”

  
“Well, that’s stupid.”

  
“No, it’s not. It’s a different country, with different laws, and thus, a different legal system.”

  
“Fine, what do they have here? What do you have here, Red?”

  
“Uh, Scotland Yard?” Amy suggested.

  
“Well, that’s freaking useless. No way I can do a Scottish accent.”

  
“No, Dean... nevermind.” Sam sighed, turning to greet the new arrivals. “Hey. Just trying to figure a way in.”

  
“No badge will get you through the door. At least not a fake. This is a top-security government base - I had to lift my brother’s ID just to get into the place. You have to swipe it at every door.” Sherlock informed them drily, though he was secretly thrilled to be the one with all the knowledge in this instance. From John’s smirk, Sherlock knew his flatmate could tell. He smirked back.

  
“Great, so whip it out, Cheekbones.”

  
“No, no good. It was discovered that I was not, in fact, Mycroft Holmes shortly after we inspected the laboratory. The ID is useless now.”

  
“Well, luckily I have this.” The Doctor grinned, holding up a blank piece of paper.

  
“Where did you get a top security clearance ID?” Sam demanded, grabbing at the paper.

  
“Sammy, what are you talking about? It’s just a blank piece of paper.”

  
“No,” John frowned at the elder Winchester. “It looks just like Mycroft’s ID - except with a picture of the Doctor on- oh.” he grinned. “That’s not - is it?”

  
“Psychic paper.” the Doctor grinned back, flipping the little booklet closed and tucking it back into the inside pocket of his tweed jacket. “Doesn’t actually work on geniuses -  amazing that there are three in on gathering! Absolutely remarkable, actually. I love genius.” He grinned even wider.

  
I’m sorry - Dean is a genius?” Sam demanded, completely dumbfounded.

  
“Shut up, Sammy.”

  
“No, really. Are you sure it just doesn’t work on emotionally unavailable men or something?”

  
“Whatever, bitch. Stick that in your 174 and smoke it.”

  
“Jerk.” Sam muttered, but allowed the conversation to move back along.

  
“Well then, what’s the plan? Are we to interrogate those inside? Or are we just going to lubricate them?” Sherlock directed his question at the Winchesters, who shrugged as one.  
“If there are demons, just stepping inside should pretty much do it. We’re not their favourite people ever.” Sam admitted.

  
“So, the brilliant plan here is to use a piece of paper which ‘apparently’ has some form of credential on it to sneak back into a military base - where John and I have already caught a killer and solved the problem, might I add- and hope that there are actually demons there. Demons who have a grudge against you.” He narrowed his eyes at Dean.

“Didn’t the Doctor claim you were intelligent?”

  
“Sherlock...” John warned.

  
“Oh, honestly, John, even an average mind like yours can recognize genius. Does that sound like a genius plan to you?”

  
“It’s the only plan we have, Einstein, so are you on board or what? Cause you can wait in the car.” Dean scowled at him. Sherlock scowled back. If it weren’t for the language the American used, he’d feel like he was fighting with Mycroft. Aka, he felt like a five year old.

  
There was no way, however, that  he was waiting in the car.  
  
***  
  
It was, in fact, demons.  
  
***  
  
Rory learned three very important things on this adventure.

  
One: hell hounds were bloody terrifying, partially due to the fact that you can’t see them.

  
Two: when demons take over scientists, they are capable of feats both utterly fantastic and utterly horrible.

  
And, three: hell hounds were way more bloody terrifying when you could actually see them.

  
Ducking behind a wall with Amy and Dean, Rory was mildly panicking.

  
“Alright, so what do we do?” he demanded.

  
“What?” Dean replied distractedly, filling his shotgun with more rounds.

  
“What do we do?”  Rory repeated impatiently, daring to glance around the corner.

  
That was a very bad idea.

  
“What do you mean? We’re doing what we do. Sammy’s got the knife - he’ll go gank the demons in charge. Assuming your boy Bow Tie over there doesn’t go all chick flick moment and insist on saving them or something.”

  
Rory sighed - this was actually worse than dealing with the Doctor. He would never complain about him again (okay, that wasn’t true. Unless they died here.  Then it was true). “I mean about the great bleeding dog-beasts trying to rip our heads off. You have killed them before, haven’t you?”

  
Dean stopped loading his gun to look at Rory like he was a total idiot. “What part of the whole conversation earlier made you think we’ve ever killed a hell hound before? The part where I said they couldn’t be killed? I’ve had a couple kill me before, but that’s about as close as I’ve come to ‘hell hounds’ and ‘dead’ belonging in the same sentence.”  
“Killed you? Oh my God, Rory, Dean’s the American you. Did you come back as a Roman, as well?”

  
“What? No, you know what, nevermind. Have either of you ever shot anything before?”

  
“Tequila.” Amy offered helpfully. Dean closed his eyes.

  
“Just...try not to get killed, would you?”  
  
***  
  
Hell hounds were beautiful.

  
Seriously, gorgeous creatures! Who would have thought up something so wonderful? The Doctor wondered if Amy would let him bring one with them. Maybe if he managed to train it... shouldn’t be too hard - he spoke dog.

  
Sharp teeth, though...

  
“Sherlock, are you done staring?” John interrupted the Doctor’s thoughts. Sherlock, it seemed, was every bit as fascinated with the hounds and the Doctor was, his eyes flicking back and forth rapidly as he seemed to try and catalogue every detail about them. He turned to his friend rapidly, reaching out to grasp his hand (the Doctor’s inner scholar gave a little yip of joy at that one - this was even better than the Shakespeare thing, people had been going around on this particular relationship for ages).

  
“John. How likely are we to encounter these beasts again. I need to know where to store them.”

  
“Oh, not that bloody mind palace again-”

  
“John! This is  important! West Wing? Attic? Study? Billiard room?”

  
“You have a billiard room?” John demanded flatly. “Do you even know the rules of billiards?”

  
Sherlock chose to ignore him. The Doctor smiled. Then frowned. Sam appeared to be in quite the heated argument with one of the only humans around -  and was waving his knife.

  
“Oh, no no no no. Back in a flash, don’t wander off!” he shouted over his shoulder, taking off towards the younger Winchester. Honestly, humans.  
  
***  
  
Sam was scanning the room, watching the demons. He had to get rid of the root of the problem - the crossroads demon. They were the ones with the hell hounds, without them, this whole debacle would fall apart.

  
There! At the top of those stairs, a flash of red. Red eyes for crossroads -  Sam took off, instinctively trusting that his brother would be covering his back when it came to the (terrifyingly visible) hell hounds and other demons swarming the place. He drew the knife from his belt as he hit the top of the stairs, approaching the demon slowly.

  
It was a middle aged woman, blond hair - looked to be some kind of scientist. When they’d seen her earlier he’d  heard Sherlock and John making some sort of comments about a Bluebell, but he seriously doubted that was her name. Unless the British we also sadists.

  
Then again, Sherlock...

  
“Sammy Winchester.” she grinned at him, stroking the head of one of the hounds next to her. The thing was actually glowing, like some sort of nightmare lite brite. “How is it you boys always manage to turn up? We went across an entire ocean this time -  just can’t keep away though, can you?”

  
“What can we say, it’s a compulsion.” Sam replied tightly, holding the knife out in front of him as he scanned for the best position to overtake her.

  
“One might even call it an - addiction?” he smirked, drawing a single polished nail down her own wrist, leaving behind a trail of scarlet red.

  
“Sorry, kicked the habit. You’ll have to pull something else out of your bag of tricks.” There, behind her was a slight irregularity in the floor. If he could force her backwards she’d stumble, allowing him to slip the knife quite neatly between her ribs.

  
“Oh, old habits die hard, Sam. Not even one little taste? For old times sake?  I know I’m no Ruby, but trust me - I’m just as sweet.” She was actually advancing on him, shit. He had to turn this around. He loosened his arm a little, letting the knife drop to his side, closing the space between them. He reached for her wrist, making as though he was going to crowd her into the wall behind her and, there! Success, he let go  just as her heel hit the change in surface and she went sprawling backwards. He drew his elbow back, ready to strike, when it  was grabbed from behind. He turned on his heel, ready to dispatch whatever low level demon was behind him and just get on with it when he came face to face (well, face to neck) with the Doctor.

  
“What did I tell you lot about violence?” he asked, almost conversationally. He looked over Sam’s shoulder and addressed the demon. “Listen, apparently you’re some sort of leader, so I’m going to give you a chance here. Leave this place - never come back. Don’t bother these people again. If you’d like, I can even find you your own planet, you just have to go. I won’t have any more deaths here. I may not be from this dimension, but the truth still stands that this planet is protected.”

  
The demon sneered. “Who the hell are you?”

  
“I’m the Doctor. I’m here to help.”

  
She laughed. “You can help, alright. I’m sure you’ll make excellent puppy chow.”

  
“You’re not going to leave.” It was a statement more than a question.

  
“No way, sweetums. This place and these people are far too much fun. This is what we were made for,” she glanced at Sam out of the corner of her eye. “To torture their little piggy selves.”

  
“Well then, in that case - I’m sorry.”

  
The Doctor grabbed something silver from his pocket, pointing it at the demon and flashing a green light.

  
Sam had no idea what the hell was going on.  
  
***  
  
Bow Tie had joined Sammy with the demon. Dean couldn’t help but let out a growl of frustration, cut short by having to fire off another round into the face of a hound.

  
He had to admit, as terrible as they were to look at, this whole visible thing was making them a lot easier to target. Hopefully they didn’t catch onto that little fact any time soon.

  
He was just getting ready to hand the sawed off off to Red (who seemed more competent than her husband - and actually, shame about the husband thing, now that he thought about it) and join them when there was a stream of green light directed at the demon and the three were engulfed in a cloud of black smoke and the most terrible screaming Dean had ever heard (and he had heard a lot of screaming - including a banshee when he was twelve).

  
Then, as quickly as it happened, it was over. Sammy was helping the woman up, and the demon seemed to be gone - as did the hell hounds, for that matter (please, don’t let them have gone invsibile). Bow Tie was turning back to the stairs, face thunderous. The other demons in the room, seeming to realize the gig was up, and none too happy with an exorcism (was it even an exorcism?) method they’d never seen before all peaced out almost as one, streams of black smoke filling the air like a cloud before sinking down through the floor and, in all likelihood, back to hell.

  
Dean could see Sherlock and John stepping out from behind their wall even as he and the Ponds stepped out from behind theirs.

  
Everyone looked just as shocked as he felt.  Well, everyone except Rory, who looked more annoyed than anything else.

  
“Seriously?” he shouted up to Bow Tie. “It doesn’t do wood, but there’s a bloody exorcism setting??”  
  
***  
  
The Winchesters were busy trying to talk the Doctor into leaving them one of his sonic screwdrivers - or at least explaining the tech behind it- while Sherlock and John packed their jeep - again- (honestly, when had they even unpacked? John blamed Sherlock entirely) and Amy and Rory added in what they clearly thought were helpful comments to the Doctor/Winchester conversation.

  
Sherlock slumped suddenly against the car, and John frowned at him, suddenly worried he had hidden some form of injury from him.

  
“Sherlock? What is it? Are you alright?”

  
“No.” Sherlock replied weakly, shaking his head. John rushed to his side, reaching up to cradle Sherlock’s head in his hands, inspecting his eyes and neck, then running deft fingers down his arms and torso, looking for damage.

  
“What is it? What’s wrong? Where does it hurt? Hold on, I’ll grab my kit. Oh, bollocks, my kit’s at home. I’ll run inside, they must have something.”

  
“No, don’t be stupid. I’m not hurt, John. I’m wrong.” Sherlock scowled, brushing John’s hands aside. John huffed out a laugh.

  
“Oh, thank God. Don’t scare me like that, you great git.”

  
“This is not okay, John! Being wrong about the sugar was one thing - I was wrong about everything! There really were beastly dogs. The supernatural does exist. Demons, and time travellers and aliens....” he looked at John with wide, terrified eyes. “I don’t know what’s real anymore. How can I function this way? How will I work?”

  
John cleared his throat uncomfortably. How was he expected to fix this?

  
“Well...” he started. “Maybe this was just a one-off? I mean, how often is the answer likely to be ‘demons’, right? It never has been before.”

  
“Hasn’t it? Are we sure? Maybe we’ve been throwing innocent people in jail all this time. I mean, Sam and Dean surely seem to run into this often enough.”

  
“Yeah, but Sherlock, that’s what they do. It would be like the average person thinking there are murderers everywhere because we run into them so often.” Sherlock gave him a withering look at the comparison. “No, really. Why don’t we just write this off as a fluke, and continue on as normal? I mean, if you can erase the solar system, you can surely erase this, right?”

  
“That would be highly irresponsible - what if it’s relevant for a future case? People could die. Given every conversation we've ever had, you're greatly opposed to that."

  
“Then store it in the wine cellar of the Mind Palace. You hate wine anyway.” he replaced one hand on Sherlock’s face, rubbing a thumb along his cheekbone before standing on tiptoes to give him a kiss on the lips. “C’mon now, even the Doctor said you’re a genius - now is not the time to start doubting yourself. Besides, you know everything there possibly is to know about hell hounds now, right?” Sherlock nodded. “And Sam and Dean said it was fine for you to keep all those papers the demons had kept about their work giving other animals hell hound properties, yes?” his boyfriend nodded again. “Well then, let’s equal parts forget it and consider it no stranger than anything else we’ve ever seen, yeah?”

  
Sherlock looked unconvinced, but nodded anyway. John would have to ring Greg when they got home, find Sherlock a nice, normal murder to dive into. Nothing took his mind off things like murder, after all.

  
Considering the matter settled, the duo rejoined the rest of their one-mission team just as the Winchesters seemed to have given up on the screwdriver, though given the glazed and uninterested look on Dean’s face and the slightly confused elation on Sam’s, he had actually tried to explain the mechanics of it to them. And given the giggling look and the elbow Amy was giving Rory, she had seen them kissing. He swore he saw Rory hand Amy a fiver, as well.

  
“Well, we’re off, then.” John announced. “Have to get back to London. Catching killers, all that. And, you know, the last train of the day.”

  
“Oh!” Amy exclaimed. “Getting back! Doctor, how are we going to get home?”

  
The Doctor opened his mouth, then abruptly closed it again, frowning slightly. “I’m not entirely sure...last time I travelled to another universe there was a jumping device involved, but I never got the chance to ask after how they worked.”

  
“Why don’t you just put her in reverse?” Dean suggested, stuffing parts of weapons into what looked like hollow books.

  
The Doctor stared at him blankly a moment, then grinned, clapping his hands with a loud laugh. “Didn’t I tell you?” he turned to his companions. “Complete genius! God, I love a genius!” he grabbed Dean’s face in his hands, planting a kiss straight on his lips. “Reverse! Excellent idea! Come along, Ponds!” Striding ahead, the Doctor made towards the Tardis, opening the door with a small key he produced from one of his many hidden pockets.

  
Dean was shaking his head and wiping his mouth when Sam shouted towards the Doctor’s retreating form. “Hey! Doctor! Wanna help a genius out? See, Dean’s got this thing with flying...”

  
A few minutes later, Sherlock and John were waving to the Tardis as it faded out of existence, back to whichever universe existed where the Doctor was actually really real (Harry was never going to believe him), with a quick stop in South Dakota so Dean could be reunited with someone he only referred to as ‘baby.’ Then, they were back in the jeep and driving back to Baker Street - hopefully a little less eventfully, this time.

  
Though John had to admit - the next time Sherlock claimed that all of existence was boring, he might just have to agree with him.


End file.
